SAV 10

Chapter 10

Lionel steeled himself for death.

He had learned that Duke Vizenstein was pouring in more troops even in winter to boost his achievements, and Lionel’s faction had pulled men away in response.

With the main soldiers and the knights sent to the front like that, the weakened defenses were breached and the raiders succeeded in a surprise attack.

It wasn’t yet proven that Duke Vizenstein was the mastermind behind it, but this was a mistake by Lionel and his staff.

And the price for that mistake had to be paid with lives. Lionel felt regret, but not injustice.

Then, just before the final battle began, something like a miracle happened.

“Gah! Ah—wait…!”

A raider begged for mercy, but the blade that flew without hesitation cut his throat. That made the third already.

At first, one could excuse it as carelessness. The second could be explained away as rage-fueled revenge.

But the third had been careful, and yet in an instant his neck was severed.

“That nun… was she originally a swordsman?” murmured Müller, one of the guard knights watching the scene. He’d been present when Isabel was brought from the Chardonnay Convent.

He had thought her composure—calm even when ordered to commit suicide—was strange, but he had never imagined she’d be a swordsman of this caliber.

Now that Isabel’s presence was revealed in the audience hall, two more raiders stepped forward with blades.

‘They’re trying to finish this…!’

Because the nun had drawn her sword—an amusing sight—the attack aimed at the prince had paused as they engaged her instead. But three of theirs had already fallen, so it looked like they intended to wrap it up now.

Müller wanted to run and help right away, but most of the raiders were still watching this side warily. Müller had a duty to prioritize the prince.

The guard knights looked at Isabel with tense eyes and suppressed anger.

‘There’s no way this will go in our favor…’

Yet Isabel showed no shrinkage even when the enemy count rose to two.

As before, she crossed her arms, holding the hilt close to her chest in the Schlüssel stance, the blade pointed at her opponents.

Müller could tell by her posture that she was conserving strength instinctively and preparing to strike whenever needed.

The silent standoff lasted only a moment. The two raiders, having exchanged a glance, charged Isabel at the same time.

This was no refined duel of technique. It was a violent, murderous rush.

Clang! Clang!

Isabel stepped back quickly and swung her sword; the clash of steel rang through the audience hall.

The two attackers who’d failed on their first strike widened their angles and pressed the assault more insistently.

It was a tactic designed to make defense difficult, but Isabel saw through it and stabbed into the raider on the right.

“Kurk!”

A sudden, inexplicable strike cut the man’s wrist; his sword fell and he staggered. Before he could flee, his throat was pierced.

Seeing one fall in an instant, the raider on the left swung at Isabel’s side. It was a predictable move, so she twisted and deflected his blade, but then a kick flew in.

Thunk!

Isabel was kicked and rolled on the floor. The raider followed immediately to pin and finish her.

But as she rolled, Isabel performed a strange, fluid motion and spun, redirecting the force; twisting her waist, she swept low. The forward-stepping raider’s ankle was sliced clean off.

Screaming, he collapsed to the side, and a blade immediately descended on his head, silencing him forever.

‘Is that even possible?’

Female swordsmen were rare. Female swordsmen who used a Langschwert as their main weapon were rarer still, and one whose little finger had been cut off—well, that hardly existed.

Yet Isabel, wielding a single Langschwert, felled five men, shattering Müller’s understanding of the world.

It was an almost unbelievable, miraculous tally.

‘But…’

The enemies were still many, and Isabel began to pant. She tried not to show it, but it was clear she was growing tired—her endurance was waning.

The moment her will outstripped her body, the miracle would be over.

‘I must act while the miracle is still happening.’

Biting his lip and resolute, Müller spoke softly to the captain of the guard knights, Kraus.

“Captain, we strike now.”

“Now?”

“The nun has taken down five men. Can’t you see the knights burning with the urge to leap out and fight? Now.”

“What about protecting His Highness?”

At that moment, Lionel standing beside him spoke.

“Let’s do it.”

“Your Highness?”

“I agree with Sir Müller.”

Lionel spoke calmly and raised his sword.

“How could I stand aside while a winged bird, its wing broken, is made to fight fate alone?”

Kraus and Müller didn’t fully understand what he meant, but both of them had a vivid memory of the prince having once shouted at the nun, commanding her to take a sword and die.

They themselves had once thought it fitting for someone to grasp a sword and die.

“Go.”

At those words, Lionel and the guard knights surged toward the raiders.

The raiders, who hadn’t expected the prince’s side to attack first, hurriedly braced themselves.

Filkruk, leader of the raiders, sensed the reversal of the overwhelmingly favorable atmosphere.

‘Damn it. What’s happening?’

The nun by the gate still stood with her sword leveled. She was only one, but it felt as if the way out had been cut off.

Her skill was certainly not to be dismissed. Filkruk decided to simplify the situation.

“Don’t let the knights form together—kill the prince first! And Püisher, Sloterbeck, Lewelling! You secure the exits!”

If this plan succeeded, a single nun would have consumed the fighting power of eight men. But there was no choice. Eliminating her cleanly and executing the prince without variables was the best strategy.

The raiding units moved quickly on the orders. Three turned back toward the nun, and the remaining men grouped into the trained formations of several each to face the knights.

Intense fighting broke out immediately.

“Müller! Fall back! Protect His Highness!”

“Encircle and kill them!”

“There—one’s flanking!”

“Push them harder!”

Roars and the sound of metal filled the audience hall.

Amid the chaos, Isabel quietly watched only her enemies.

Three men raised their swords to face her. They were all from the same mercenary band and used the same style of swordsmanship.

The man in the middle, Sloterbeck, spoke.

“Nun. The ones you just killed were our sworn brothers.”

“Regrettable.”

“Did you pray for them as you killed them?”

“…I did not.”

“Asking for prayer is laughable. In any case… I can’t pray for them either.”

With that he and the two others spread out to left and right. They were tighter and more precise than the two Isabel had faced earlier.

As Isabel assumed her posture, the attack began.

Facing strikes that seemed to come from all around, she retreated.

Taking four steps back with a slightly off rhythm and swinging her sword twice, two of the attackers dropped their blades and clutch their wrists.

“What the—!”

Lewelling, whose wrist had been cut, was shocked at the mysterious technique that had come from an unexpected direction.

As he cried out, Isabel replied.

“Your swordsmanship… is the same.”

“What did you say?”

“You look like people trained by the same group. That’s unfortunate for you.”

Isabel had already dismantled most of the techniques she’d observed from the previous opponents.

While the men—who couldn’t imagine such a thing in so short a time—were flustered, Isabel stabbed like a shot and pierced Lewelling’s throat.

Another man who had dropped his sword, Püisher, drew a dagger from his clothes to resist, but he too was cut in arm and leg and tumbled to the ground.

Watching all that, Sloterbeck hurriedly raised his sword. He was feeling something close to terror.

“Which force are you even from…?”

“I don’t know either. I’m trying to find that out myself….”

Isabel gave an oddly similar answer to what Lionel had said earlier, sighed, and swung her sword.

Having met blades only twice, Sloterbeck was stabbed in the shoulder and forced back.

Isabel never allowed a prolonged bind of blades. She avoided unfavorable positions and struck a tempo faster from advantageous angles.

Sloterbeck tried to close again but Isabel cut his wrist and shoulder, his sword fell, and then she cut his throat.

Seeing the situation by the door, Filkruk wondered if he was dreaming.

‘What on earth is happening?’

The ambush had been successful. Ottkirchen Castle had been left with only the minimum garrison, and Filkruk and the raiders had been able to ravage the castle and corner Lionel.

Lionel and his guard knights’ skill was well known, but even they could be overwhelmed and killed when pressed down by a force more than five times their size.

The operation had been on the cusp of success—until a nun appeared from behind.

Eight men had died at the hands of a single nun. And with the exits effectively blocked, morale had plummeted overall—another huge problem.

In contrast, the prince’s side, emboldened, fought like madmen.

Seeing how things had shifted, Filkruk belatedly realized that the balance of the battlefield was being held by the nun in the rear. To reverse the situation, he had to kill her somehow, immediately.

But now they lacked manpower. In that short span the guard knights had already taken down more than ten of their men.

“All units retreat—!”

“Where to?”

Before Filkruk could respond to the low, probing voice, his leg was deeply cut and he fell.

“Arrgh!”

“Stay there. I’ll take my time and deal with you properly.”

Lionel quickly subdued Filkruk, passed him, and headed straight for the door.

There, the nun still stood with her sword leveled.

“Isabel.”

“…Your Highness.”

“Why did you come to save me?”

More than who was behind the raid, what Lionel most wanted to know now was why Isabel, who had been at the west spire, had come to this place.

Isabel knitted her brows slightly and replied.

“I came with you to die.”

“…Are you about to stab me now?”

Misunderstandings kept arising in their conversations. Both Lionel and Isabel felt it, but there was no time to correct them now.

Noticing that Lionel had slipped back, some of the raiders launched one last attack.

“Kill the prince!”

Lionel turned and raised his sword; naturally, Isabel stood beside him.

The two of them realized at the same time that they were unlikely to die here.